Father and Son
by HelenOH
Summary: Vignette: A father's suspicion, a son's guilt.


**Father and Son**

Since Josh returned home Walter had been agonizing over what was on his son's mind, alternating between blame for his bizarre actions, then rejecting the blame and feeling angry for being callously written out of his life. Today he is feeling both blame and anger at the same time. He wanders into the kitchen hoping to find Josh and yet knowing if he was there it didn't matter, the room would ghostly silent whether his son inhabited it or not, like the space was holding it's breath hiding from anyone that happened in.

Walter does find Josh sitting alone at the table, the fingers of his left hand plays pianist-like against a place mat. Walter watches Josh trying to read with such concentration he thinks he might hurt himself. _He is ignoring me_, Walter thinks. His son looks so strong and still so vulnerable at the same time; he knows the real Josh exists not too far beneath that surface, behind the lithe strength and manly features he sees the rounder lines of a boy he once knew so well. His memory can easily erase a few years of startling growth to manhood to restore the original fat little boy, like a big butter ball, always oozing happy love for someone or another. No one else could remember him so well. He is filled with the usual wave of tenderness towards his son and develops a steady resolve to finally get him to talk about what happened. What made him uncharacteristically runaway so suddenly only to come back a different boy? A different man really.

He walks past Josh to pour himself a cup of coffee and drops in it a thick dollop of cream and too much sugar he knows, all while keeping his face perfectly neutral. Then he turns and says, sipping with that same gently bland look, _"You have a moment Josh?"_

Josh reluctantly turns to face his father since it would be too obvious not to. He smiles at him with guarded blue eyes, but Walter can feel his melancholy. _"Sure,"_ he answers with voice tinged with exhaustion.

_"You know you can tell me anything. Anything." _

_"I know,"_ Josh replies, but his face reveals the silent words _'not really'._

Walter grins, despite the bafflement in his heart.

_"I need to know what happened Josh. Why did you leave like that? I need to know son."_

The truth hovers between them, diaphanous like a ghost. Josh blinks once, then lifts his gaze from his father to a point somewhere near the ceiling at the far corner, his mind seeking the right words for a long moment. Walter waits respectfully. While his son is lost in these personal reflections, he moves closer and involuntarily leans his whole body towards him, as if wishing in this way to push the truth out of him, so close that he can smell the faintest edge of clean soap. He feels the silence is becoming too long and it soon becomes awkward, then moves to self-conscious, and finally starts to feel like another lost communication.

_"Dammit Josh, you don't say anything, you don't say anything."_ Walter thinks to himself sadly,_"You just turn your eyes away, bite your lip, shut me out."_

*****

My dad looks at me with one hand shoved deep down into his pockets, the other gripping a coffee cup. There is something so deliberate about his stance, as if he is trying to look casual but not succeeding. He is too close. I straighten up from the table and rub my hands along my arms. A soft California sunlight is coming through the kitchen window I move toward it and away from him. I stop in front of the yellowness, warming myself with that sun and staring at the ruins of scrambled egg breakfast soaking in the sink.

I close my eyes for a moment and I feel the truth I can not say aloud. I feel my stepbrother in my arms; I can feel warmth of his touch, his head nuzzling, his body rubbing against my torso, his hands exploring inside my shirt, stroking my arms, my waist, my neck. His mouth is warm and sweet and his tongue slides between my lips and it stirs me more than I ever have been before. I wanted him, I had him. I still want him to kiss me and then bear me down against the bed. He still burns me up from the inside and turns me into something I can't believe I am. It is tragic and funny and amazing all at the same time and still happening to us, we can not stop. We don't know how to handle this. How can I tell my father this about his son and stepson? How do you admit that affair to your father? How can I tell him when I am not sure what is going to happen next myself?

And then I am not thinking about what had happened. I am bracing myself against the counter and concentrating on bringing under control the overwhelming urge to cry about what a disappointment I will be to my father if he knew.

_"Are you going to leave us again? I mean, not for good ... you'll come back during college breaks right?"_ My father's voice to me is startlingly quavery.

_"I'll come back."_ I say, but I don't say anything more--not tonight, not now, not right now. I run my hands through my hair, then wince when my father walks over to me and with a gentle smile lays a little kiss on my forehead then spreads his big arms around me and squeezes hard out of frustration, protection, love. I shift in a small appreciation to put my hands on the tense line of his back, then I realize he's crying.

It is more than I deserve.


End file.
